Baghdad
by northernexposure
Summary: What happened in Baghdad? H/R Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

Baghdad

Summary: What happened in Baghdad? (H/R)

Author's note: Longer explanation at the end of this so as not to bore anyone. I wanted to know what happened in Baghdad (per 8.1), so this is my attempt to fill in the blanks. Will hopefully be about five chapters long.

* * *

The aircraft's engine rumbled like incessant thunder, drowning out everything in its sparse interior. Ruth pressed herself against the dense webbing that clad the C-17's inner walls, and gripped a little tighter as a pocket of turbulence threatened to send her off-balance. The men around her were silent and stony-faced. She was struck again by their youth: all except their unit commander seemed to be in their early 20's. They were dwarfed by their combat gear and flight protection, heads swamped by their helmets, ears hidden beneath their large mufflers. Ruth shifted her own head, feeling the beginnings of an itch on her right earlobe that she had no hope of being able to scratch. The combats they had issued her with weren't the most comfortable item of clothing she'd ever worn, either, but at least they were warm. From the icy chill that touched her nose (one of the few parts of her body not heavily covered), fewer or thinner layers would have meant for a freezing, as well as uncomfortable, flight.

A fist knocked lightly against her shoulder. Ruth turned to see Harry, bundled up as tightly as she was. "Okay?" he mouthed, words lost beneath the roar of airbourne tumult. She nodded with a smile that was only slightly forced. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, his bulky form no more suited to a soldier's kit than was her small one.

Without warning, the aircraft banked sharply and then began a steep descent. Ruth tried to brace herself against the narrow bench on which she sat, but still slid into Harry before slipping the other way as the plane leveled again, only to enter another descent shortly afterwards. Around them, the soldiers came to life, checking gear, tightening helmet straps. The battalion's commander stood to check the strapping that bound the huge tank tethered in the centre of the large carrier. Ruth assumed that this break in the monotony of the journey signalled, finally, their imminent landing at Baghdad. It felt as if they had been in the air for hours, though she'd been unable to check her watch since first boarding. Despite the fear of landing in a warzone, it would be a relief to touch down and be able to stand. Army troop transport had nothing on Ryanair, let alone Virgin.

Ruth's skeleton felt as if it had been shaken to pieces and was now held together only by her horribly strained muscles. How on earth had she ended up here? She hadn't even been at MI-5 for a year yet, and here she was, flying into a warzone with her boss. It wasn't exactly the sort of analyst work she'd been used to at GCHQ.

Ruth shut her eyes, thinking back two days to when she'd been given her first inkling of what was to come. She'd been on the grid - early, as was her habit, before any of the rest of the team were in. She liked those hours, when the office was quiet and she could concentrate on whatever it was she had at hand. And even when there was no one there at all but her (or else no one there but Harry, closeted away in his office) it felt more full of life and company than her empty little house, with or without Fidget. The move from Cheltenham had taken her away from friends and family, and she'd yet to really settle in to London life.

She'd been sitting there in semi-darkness, listening to the latest chatter from a suspected terror cell in Walthamstow, East London, when the pods had sprung into life. She already knew who it would be. Harry was generally the second person in after her of a morning. He stepped onto the Grid and turned towards her illuminated desk.

"Morning, Ruth."

"Good morning, Harry."

She'd expected that to be the end of their exchange, as it so often was. He usually headed straight for his office, shrugging off his coat and immediately getting down to the pile of files that had evolved on his desk overnight. But that morning, Harry had strolled towards her until he stood in front of her desk, resting his knuckles on the edge as he leaned forward.

"How are you finding it here, Ruth?"

She'd blinked at the question, before saying, a little too quickly, "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes..."

"Just fine? You don't miss GCHQ?"

She almost laughed at that. "No. I - I enjoy it here. The variety."

Harry had nodded before straightening up. "Good." He paused again. "I will be asking something of you later."

Ruth had felt her eyebrows spring up her forehead. "Oh?"

"I won't explain now. There will be a briefing. And I want you to know... when I ask you, it won't be an order. But I hope your answer will be yes, as I have thought long and hard about the question. And I know you are the right person for the job. The best person, in fact."

"R-right," she'd said, utterly bemused and faintly fearful. He's smiled at her again, an attempt at reassurance.

"Don't worry. You won't be sent back to GCHQ if you refuse."

"That's... good to know."

He'd nodded again, before turning and walking away.

When the briefing came, several hours later, his request that she join him on an operation to Baghdad was not among the ideas she had had about what he was going to ask. He'd stood in front of the team and told her she was the best analyst they had, and that her skills would be invaluable in helping the troops in Iraq. How could she refuse that, especially when, apart from anything else, this was a chance for her to prove that he'd done the right thing in seconding her for MI-5?

So she'd said yes. And spent the next two nights in a state of sleepless terror.

Ruth opened her eyes to find Harry watching her. He offered what she assumed was an encouraging smile. She returned it, determined not to show her boss just how terrified she was. Once she got down to work, she'd be just fine.

* * *

Harry watched as Ruth turned away and gripped harder at their uncomfortable bench. He could see how scared she was - he didn't blame her, and had the air been less noisy, he would have told her as much. Despite her fear, however, it was clear that Ruth had every intention of presenting him with a brave front. Harry admired her for that. Asking her to take a place on this operation had been a gamble, if he was honest - she had only the most basic field training, and was still really an unknown quantity compared to the years of experience he had with her colleagues on the Grid. But there was something about Ruth Evershed that stuck in the mind, and no one could deny her formidable talents as an analyst.

The plane slowed, suddenly, jolting backwards roughly as it began it's final descent to the runway. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that they would soon be on solid ground once more - he'd read the reports about the insurgency firing at troop carriers in the past weeks.

The C-17's heavy tyres bounced on the pock-marked tarmac, screeching with effort as the pilot pulled back on the throttle. Harry watched the armored vehicle in front of them carefully - it seemed too huge to be safe on such a flight - but it didn't move. The beast's huge caterpillar wheels, bigger than any of the men it would later carry, stood fast.

Before the craft had even lumbered to a halt, its giant back doors were beginning to open. The troops were unbuckling, grabbing their kit bags and priming their weapons. Harry realised that they had been briefed to be prepared for weapons fire upon landing, and he looked around at Ruth. They were kitted out in helmets and flak gear, but nothing strong enough to withstand heavy gunfire.

The troop commander came towards him as the craft's engines finally died. The relative quiet expanded like silence, and Harry shook his head to clear it, temporarily deafened.

"Are we going to have to make a run for it, Major?"

He was rewarded by a brief grin. "'Fraid so, sir. We'll cover you both, and reports from the ground are that everything's clear. But you don't want to be out there longer than necessary."

Harry nodded, looking at Ruth. "Ready?"

She nodded with grim determination.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's (rather more expansive) note:

OK, so getting the timeline right for this is quite complicated (or it was for my tiny brain, anyway). Baghdad airport was secured by coalition forces in April 2003, when Baghdad fell, but Ruth would then have surely only been at MI-5 for a maximum of four months, since she joined the team in 2003 (if we're assuming that the TV timeline is present-day, which I guess we have to). I think the plot uncovered by Harry must have happened quite early on in the war, when Blair and Bush were struggling to secure universal support for the action and the place was at it's most chaotic. So not later than, say, Jan 2004. But for Harry to trust Ruth enough to both take her on what must have been a very dangerous mission, and then to expressly inform her and only her of something so sensitive, she must have been around enough to gain that trust. Which I think would have taken more than a few months...

In any case, that's what was going through my head as I tried to position this. I probably shouldn't have worried about it so much. In the end, I think we will say this takes place in Sep/Oct 2003, or thereabouts, when the airport was still being fired on by surface-to-air missiles and Baghdad (I think) was still in uproar. It also means negotiating Harry and Ruth's relationship when it was still in it's infancy. If I've got got anything about this fundamentally wrong, please be kind and forgive me, and put it down to artistic license rather than poor research! Hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. I'd love reviews if you are so inclined...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Author's note: I'm sorry if this part is a bit rambly. Thanks for the lovely reviews, I really appreciate them. I'm glad people are reading and like it!

* * *

They reached the airport terminal out of breath, but without incident. Ruth dropped her bag and bent double as around her, the soldiers formed square and waited for instructions. They had landed as the Iraqi sun was reaching it's zenith, and the heat was intense. It burned her throat as she breathed in, fighting to catch her breath after their hard pelt across the runway. The concrete building in which they stood showed extensive damage – shell marks were etched into its walls, and the country's turmoil was written in the overturned furniture that littered the terminal's floors.

"Ruth? Are you alright?" Harry appeared in front of her, breathing hard. Sweat poured from his brow as he pulled off his helmet.

She nodded, unclasping her own headgear. "I'm fine." She looked over to the troops, getting ready to move out. "What do we do now?"

"There should be a car waiting to take us to the hotel."

"Hotel?"

He nodded at her evident surprise. "One of the first things the coalition did was secure one of Baghdad's main hotels for official use. It's about the safest building in the city, although I'll admit that's a relative statement. It'll be our base of operations - the Americans and the Brits are working side-by-side there."

"Sounds like Sarajevo."

"Very much so, although without the journalists," he looked at her curiously. "Surely that was before your time at GCHQ?"

Ruth nodded, following his lead and picking up her bag again as they headed towards the heavily-guarded main doors. "It was, but I did a Serbo-Croatian language module at SSEES the year I studied Arabic at SOAS. One of the other students was a BBC journalist who was out there at the time."

Harry shook his head. "Is there anything you _can't_ do, Ruth?"

She gave a lop-sided smile, shy at his implied praise. "Plenty of things. But I try not to do them in public."

* * *

The car journey was uneventful, though traumatic. It was far from Harry's first time in a war zone, but the sight of devastation by aerial attack was always sobering. Ruth sat beside him, silent, staring out of the armoured car as they passed acre after acre of ruined buildings and desperate civilians sifting through the remains of their homes. Dust motes rose from the cracked road as they passed, fogging the already-dirty air. In several places, fires raged with no services to control them. He did nothing to break the silence inside the car, but wondered what was going through Ruth's head. From what he'd seen of her personality so far, Harry imagined she would be affected by this, probably more deeply than some of his other agents, although that had to do with experience levels as well as sensitivity. He wondered again if he was right to bring her, but hoped his instincts would prove correct. Her courage under threat had so far been exemplary.

Harry hoped, too, that the suspicion that had prompted him to bring her at all would prove unfounded. His decision had raised a few discreet eyebrows in Whitehall, but no one had asked any difficult questions. Her presence wasn't strictly necessary, after all - the Americans had their own analysts already in place. But then, he wouldn't be the first to use an overseas trip to take a favoured female colleague away for a few days... and though he disliked the idea that his superiors assumed he was the sort to do just that, it served his purposes if it hid his true intentions. He had deliberated over whether to tell Ruth herself the truth as to why she was here, but Harry was still mindful of her position as a desk officer, and was unsure how she would hold up if called upon to lie outright. If the heavens smiled upon him, Harry's instincts would be wrong and Ruth could return to London none-the-wiser, no doubt having doubled their intelligence output during her time in Iraq.

Their destination loomed ahead, blast-barriers lurking darkly in the heat. The hotel itself had not escaped damage, but as far as Harry was concerned, anywhere that had running water would do right now.

* * *

Ruth stopped outside her room, checking the number on her key card before looking back towards Harry.

"I'm just over there," he told her, indicating the door opposite.

"Right."

"It was a pretty rough flight - take some time to settle yourself. I'll see you downstairs, in what - two hours?"

She nodded, pushing open the door.

"Oh, and Ruth?"

"Yes?"

"Just to let you know, we'll be having dinner with our American colleagues tonight."

Ruth started at this unexpected turn of events, but Harry was already busy opening his own door. "Dinner? But I didn't bring - I mean, I don't have any dinner clothes. I mean, I didn't know -"

Harry glanced at her, amused. "It's not a state banquet, Ruth."

She blushed, and mentally cursed herself for it. "No. Of course. But-"

"Two hours, Ruth."

"Right."

Harry disappeared into his room, leaving Ruth staring at his closed door.

* * *

Harry reached the lobby before Ruth, and took a seat in a cluster of armchairs at the base of the hotel's incongruously opulent staircase. Even here, in the well of fradulent calm created by the huge security presence in and around the hotel, he could hear the sounds of war raging beyond the perimeter. Shells whistled through the air, followed by explosions and the sound of falling rubble. Sporadic gunfire echoed in the middle distance. Harry glanced over the copy of the Herald Tribune that lay on the table before him, just days out of date. It must have been printed in the middle east for ex-pat consumption. Saudi, perhaps...

His idle thoughts were interrupted by Ruth appearing at the top of the stairs, though Harry had to look twice to be sure it was her. He was so used to seeing her in dark colours that her choice of loose white linen trousers and delicate white kaftan shirt took him by surprise. Her hair looked different, too - it seemed to have developed a slight wave, and instead of bring either scraped back in a tight ponytail or hanging loose around her shoulders, had been pinned up in a soft half-bun. Ruth looked cool and elegant, despite Baghdad's oppressive heat and the flush it put into her cheeks. She was, in fact, unsettlingly beautiful, and all the more so for being so unconscious of the fact. He stood as she approached.

"Sorry," Ruth said, as soon as she was close enough, "am I late?"

"Not at all. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, fine. The shower helped. Although the electricity cut out so I couldn't dry my hair."

Harry smiled. "Well, there is a war on."

"So there is." Ruth's gaze turned towards the hotel's main doors, outside which Baghdad's night fizzed with violence. Her face was full of concern.

"We're pretty safe in here, you know," he reassured her.

Ruth looked back at him, her eyes wide and serious. "I know," she said softly. "But the people out there aren't."

Harry nodded, acknowledging the point, before holding his arm out towards the hotel's bar. "Shall we?"

Libby McCall and his compatriots were sitting in a circle at the far end of the bar. Candlelight threw the room's features into soft relief, as empty as it was. He ushered Ruth across the floor, nodding at Libby as he looked up.

"Harry Pearce. I was wondering where you had got to."

Harry nodded at him as they shook hands. "Libby. Good to see you again." He glanced around the gathered personnel before introducing his companion. "This is Ruth Evershed. She's Section D's best analyst."

McCall raised an eyebrow before turning his attention to Ruth. "Is she indeed. I would hope so, too, seeing as you dragged her all this way, Harry. We do have our own analysts here, you know."

Harry shrugged, pulling out a chair and indicating for Ruth to sit before doing the same himself. "An extra pair of ears, Libby - it never hurts."

"I guess not." McCall nodded at each of the four other people present. "Meet the gang. Angela Marks, my second; Ronnie Cooper from MI-6; David Turner and and Bruce Roth, both CIA."

* * *

For Ruth, the evening was distinctly surreal. There they were, quite literally in the middle of a warzone, behaving as if they'd met some colleagues for an evening meal at an exclusive club. McCall ruled the roost like some kind of mafia patriarch, making poor jokes which his colleagues - and the MI-6 man - laughed at uproariously. She kept glancing at Harry, who didn't seem to be any more impressed than she was. Once she caught his eye, and something about what she saw there made her smile. Ruth covered it with a cough, which rapidly turned into an un-forced yawn. It had been a long, arduous day. She wondered how difficult it would to be extricate herself from this encounter - whether they would eventually get around to work matters, or whether this was just how the security services passed their evenings when besieged within a warzone. She couldn't just stand up and make her excuses - what if Harry wanted her for something? Ruth was saved from worrying by Harry himself, who had obviously noticed her fatigue.

"Ruth, you've had a long day. Why don't you call it a night?"

She cast him a grateful look. "You don't need me for anything?"

"No. Your tech station won't be ready until tomorrow morning. Be ready for a call at seven and we'll get oriented together."

Ruth stood up, nodding, and bid them all goodnight.

As she walked, she heard Libby's obnoxious voice above the piped music, talking to Harry. "Don't let us stop you if you want to turn in too, Harry. I wouldn't blame you, myself..."

Later, Ruth lay in bed listening to the sound of mortar fire, and wondering what the subtext of McCall's comment had been. She had missed something, she was sure of it, but didn't know what.

She drifted asleep, finally, and dreamed of fire.

**

TO BE CONTINUED

* * *

SSEES stands for School Of Slavonic and East European Studies

SOAS stands for School Of Oriental And African Studies


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Author's note: Quite a long piece today, as I'm not sure I'll be able to update over the weekend. Sorry about the plotlessness of the last section. Hope you like this. Reviews very welcome! Thanks hugely for reading.

Edit: Oh My God. I realised I had spelled Harry's name wrong. I'm so sorry. Corrected. Now I shall go and beat myself with a big stick covered in wasps.

* * *

The hot desert days passed swiftly, and Ruth found herself developing a routine. She rose early, earlier even than in London, and ate breakfast at her desk. The room allocated for the coalition's on-site intelligence corps was sparse but operable. She had chosen a desk away from the brash CIA analysts she'd met on her firtst night in Baghdad, preferring a quieter spot in a somewhat secluded alcove at the other end of the room. Ruth worked as many hours as her mental stamina would allow, which meant she was often still at her desk long into the evening when the CIA men had retired for the night. This had the added benefit of allowing her to avoid the interminable evening hours spent in the hotel's intermittently stocked bar, listening to McCall's macho anecdotes and drinking too much. She was careful not to miss too many, however – Ruth did not want to be seen as stand-offish or disinterested, which is how her retiscence for socialising had been seen in the past. But she appreciated quiet and calm, and there was precious little of that to be had in post-invasion Iraq. Twice in the night she had been woken by thudding explosions hitting just a little too close for comfort, and it was clear that though secure, the hotel was a distinct target.

On the nights that she had ventured into the bar, Ruth always endeavoured to take a seat beside Harry – seeking solidarity, perhaps, or just familiarity. His very British demeanor diluted the American bravado. On a couple of rare occasions when the cousins had found cause to be elsewhere in the city it had been just the two of them, and Ruth had been pleased (and, if she had to admit it, a little surprised) to discover that her boss was both interesting and engaging. His range of interests fascinated her: she had assumed that her classical knowledge would be boring for him, or at least outside his sphere of interest. But in fact, Harry had proven both well-read and willing to converse with her about various subjects that she hadn't had an opportunity to debate upon since her Oxbridge days.

It seemed to Ruth that if nothing else, this trip had encouraged Harry to see her as more than simply a desk clerk who happened to be particularly good at her job. She felt more a part of this clandestine world than she ever had in her previous months at Thames House – and yes, that surely had to do with where they were, but she hoped it was also associated with Harry's growing confidence in her abilities.

Right now, it was past eight in the evening and she was still at her desk. Ruth frowned as she looked over yet another transcription of inane amateur radio chatter. It was true that she had deciphered several insurgent exchanges that had led to the arrests of a few terrorist cells, but Ruth was still unsure of why Harry had felt her skills in particular to be vital to this operation. The local insurgents were not masterful in their subterfuge, and as far as Ruth could see, any analyst could be doing what she had done over the past three weeks.

There was a sound from the other end of the room, and she looked up to see the door being pushed open. Harry backed in with a laden tray in his hands.

"What's this?" she asked, as he put it down on her desk and pulled up a chair.

"Dinner," he told her. "I'm not convinced that you ate lunch, and since you seemed determined to miss another evening meal as well, I thought I'd bring it to you."

Ruth smiled, touched by the gesture. "Thank you. I am a little hungry, I have to admit."

Harry busied himself, passing her cutlery and separating plates. "You work too hard, Ruth. You need to take more down-time."

She was surprised to see him take a plate himself – he evidently intended to eat with her, and Ruth wondered if Harry was as bored with Libby McCall's turn of phrase as she was.

"I just want to do the best job I can."

"You already do."

Ruth checked the covered terrine, discovering what looked like chicken cooked in a mushroom sauce with rice and vegetables.

"Am I?" She asked. "To be honest, Harry, I'm wondering what use I am here, really. Don't misunderstand – I'm very happy to be able to help the troops in any way I can. But the intelligence I've gathered doesn't seem to be that vital."

"It is to the families of the men you've saved by recording it."

She nodded in acknowledgement. "Of course. I just – when you asked me to come here, I got the impression it was a major mission, but what I've worked on so far doesn't support that."

Harry raised an eyebrow and smiled around a mouthful of food. "I rather thought the basic notion of being in a warzone was quite a 'major mission', myself."

Ruth laughed a little, "Do you know, I've almost forgotten where we are, despite the noise outside. This place is so… insulated. And with the Americans happily drinking every night away…"

Harry winced slightly. "I'm sorry that you're not enjoying their company. I fear I'm used to the bravado that tends to grow around an operation like this, and hadn't thought to warn you of it."

"It's not that I dislike it. I'm just… not so good at conversation, I suppose. I'm better at listening," Ruth shrugged, waving her fork at her screen, "in case you hadn't noticed."

"I don't think that's the case at all," Harry argued. "You and I seem to be perfectly able to carry a conversation."

She smiled. "Then I suppose it depends on the company."

Silence reigned for a few minutes as they ate, and Ruth watched as Harry debated something, silently, with himself. His face was a particularly expressive one for a spy, she thought, lined as it was from the weight of his years in service. Ruth found herself thinking that she liked the way she could read the play of emotions in his eyes, and then wondered where the thought had come from.

* * *

Harry looked up to find Ruth watching him intently. She reddened when she realised he'd caught her staring. He wondered what it was she had seen in his face, and wished he hadn't embarrassed her. Harry felt that he'd seen Ruth come out of herself during the past three weeks – the nervousness that had categorised her introduction to MI-5 had dissipated somewhat.

"I'm sorry if you feel your time has been wasted," he said.

"Oh, I didn't mean - my time belongs to you... the country, I mean..." Ruth said, evidently flustered, though he wasn't sure why. "I just meant - I hope I'm not missing something," she finished lamely.

"I'm sure if there was anything out of the ordinary, you'd be the first to notice it, Ruth."

She shook her head, more sure of herself now that she was back on familiar ground. "The only thing that doesn't fit in with the general insurgent chatter I've seen over the past three weeks are two radio signals that seem to have originated in the Indian sub-continent," she said. "They appeared today, but there's nothing to suggest that they're significant. They could have ghosted from a satellite bounce. I'm working on cleaning up their content, but so far they don't seem sinister in the least."

Harry had stilled at her first mention of the Indian connection. "That's interesting."

"It is?"

He nodded, leaning back in his chair and glancing around the empty room. "McCall's just told me that we'll be receiving a colleague from the Indian Intelligence Agency tomorrow. Umesh Mani. I've met him before, he's very good."

"Why the IIA?"

"Their proximity to Pakistan - which shares a porous border with Afghanistan - gives them a vested interest in the war on terror. Washington is hoping to court their cooperation, no doubt."

"Not to mention the fact that they have a primed nuclear arsenal and a long-standing argument with Pakistan."

"Quite."

"Surely the two are unconnected, though? A coincidence."

Harry glanced at her almost-empty plate, and then made a decision. "Ruth, when you've finished your meal, I'd appreciate you retrieving those files from your room."

She froze. "Files."

"Yes - I'll come with you to pick them up. I'm going to turn in early and review them." He met her eye and willed her to understand. He didn't want to have this conversation in this unsecured room.

"O-of course," she said, admirably quick to pick up on his intentions.

They finished their meal quickly and Harry waited as Ruth closed down her workstation. She had gone very quiet, and as they crossed the hotel's foyer and ascended the stairs, Harry attempted to keep the conversation going, anxious that everything should seem normal to anyone observing their actions. He knew instinctively that his worst fears had been proven correct, and from now on it would be a game of cat-and-mouse to work out what was happening and when. He glanced sideways at Ruth, who's face betrayed nothing of what she may be thinking. Harry found himself nodding to himself briefly: he had chosen correctly. For what was to come, there was no one else he would prefer to have beside him at this moment.

* * *

Ruth breathed a sigh of relief as they reached her room and shut the door behind her. The scrambling device that Harry had told her to place beneath her bed would ensure that no-one overheard whatever it was he was about to tell her. Her heart was pounding, and she noted absently that the air-conditioning had cut out again. She crossed to the partially open window, needing some air.

"Ruth," Harry began, "There's something I need to-"

It happened so fast and at the same time so slowly that afterwards, she would find it impossible to tell how much time had elapsed. Behind her came the sound of glass shattering. Something slammed into the bedpost in front of her with a tiny, dull thud that sent up plumes of chipped wood. She turned her head to look at the window, but in that second Harry launched himself toward her.

"Sniper," he bellowed, his hand already grasping hers.

Harry yanked her forward even as he barreled towards her, their bodies colliding as his momentum pushed her towards the floor. Harry brought his forearm up behind her head to cushion her from the fall, but even so the force smashed her teeth together and left her momentarily senseless as they crashed down beside the bed. His weight pushed her into the carpet, the minutely splintered glass of the window breaking over them in a shower of lethal shards. Dazed, she looked up to see his face turned towards the window, and felt his breathing pressing against her ribcage as he listened. Time became elastic, and Ruth found herself deaf with shock. Her jaw ached from the force that had slammed her teeth together, and she thought she tasted blood, but perhaps it was just fear.

Harry turned his head back towards her, and she realised he was saying something. She blinked, trying to focus.

"Are you alright? Ruth? _Ruth?_"

She nodded, numbly, and he moved, sliding away from her but keeping flat against the floor. She saw him wince and lift one hand from the carpet. The glass was everywhere, and a piece had embedded itself in his palm. She watched as he yanked it out and continued towards the window. Once beneath it, Harry pulled himself to a sitting position before glancing out of the glassless space. Another bullet thudded into the frame above his head.

"Sniper's bloody alley," he muttered, before turning back. His face froze as he looked at her. "Ruth…"

Harry was staring at her forehead, and it was only then that she felt something there. Reaching up, her fingers came away sticky, and she realised she was bleeding.

He was already on his way back to her. "We've got to get out of here. Can you move?"

"Yes."

"Stay on your stomach. Keep as low as possible. Go under the bed, and towards the door."

She could hear him behind her as they moved, incrementally, towards the door. It seemed to take an age before she was close enough to reach up and lever it open. They rolled out into the hotel's corridor. Harry was on his feet immediately, stooping to help her up.

"My room," he ordered, shortly, keeping one arm around her as they crossed the short distance.

"Is it safe?" She heard herself ask and immediately knew that she was speaking in relatives. No where in this city, in this country, was safe.

But Harry nodded. "It faces the courtyard, not the street." He swore angrily, "That's where I should have put you in the first place."

He placed her, with infinite gentleness, on his sofa, before snatching up the room's phone and dialling reception.

"This is Harry Pearce in 116. The south side of the building must be evacuated - there's just been a sniper attack." Ruth listened as he paused, before continuing, "then they'll have to double up rooms, won't they? It's either that or risk a bullet."

He replaced the receiver, looking at her with concern. "You're still bleeding."

She touched her head again. "It's okay. Head wounds always bleed a lot. I'll be fine in a minute."

Ruth watched as Harry moved to the suitcase open on his bed. He pulled out his washbag and grabbed one of the freshly folded towels that lay on the coverlet before coming back towards her.

"First aid kit," he said, by way of explanation, as he sat down beside her. "You're shaking," he added, watching as she tried to control her fractious fingers.

She tried to shrug. "Just the shock. I'll be okay..." she reached for the first aid kit, "I'll just go and-"

He cut her off. "Let me."

"No, Harry, it's fine, you don't have to-"

"Hush," he ordered. "Just sit."

His fingers probed the cut and she winced as the pain throbbed through her.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly. "Just making sure there's no glass left in there. How do you feel?"

"I think I'll have a bit of a headache," Ruth muttered, "but I'm sure I'll survive."

"No blurred vision? No nausea?"

Ruth shook her head, and then wished she hadn't. Harry seemed satisfied, and carried on cleaning her cut before taping it shut and covering it with gauze.

"You'll have a nasty bruise," he told her, "but I don't think it'll scar."

"Better than being dead," she pointed out.

Harry's face was stony. "We'll get you out on the next transport."

"What? Harry, no-"

"I can handle this on my own."

"You said you needed an analyst."

"I'll manage. I have basic analyst training myself."

"You said you needed the best. And you said _I _was the best."

"You are. But this place is just too dangerous. You have to go back."

Ruth stood up, incensed. "I'm not going to walk out on my duty to my country, Harry. I'll get a good night's sleep and I'll be fine tomorrow."

"Ruth. It's not safe-"

"Of course it's not safe! It's a war zone. But I knew that before I came out here. And how would it look, me going home because I hurt my head, when there are soldiers out there dying every day? How would my conscience bear that?"

"That's different."

"No, it isn't."

There was a moment's silence. Ruth felt her legs weaken as the adrenaline of the past half hour began to wear off. She sat back down. "Sorry. I didn't mean to... It's just the shock. Sorry."

"I'd really feel better if you went back."

"Well, I wouldn't," Ruth said, firmly. "So if you want me to go, you'll have to officially take me off the operation. And I don't think I deserve that on my record."

Harry smiled, and she knew she'd defeated him. "You know I'm not going to do that."

"Good." She took a deep breath. "So, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about, before the sniper interrupted?"

The expression on Harry's face changed, tensing up as he moved to lean his elbows on his knees with a shake of his head. "That can wait until tomorrow."

"Are you sure? I thought it was urgent?"

"It is. But now is not the time. It can wait until morning."

Ruth was somewhat relieved. Her head was beginning to pound, and she was fairly sure she wouldn't be able to retain many hard facts if Harry began to recount them to her now.

"Right. tomorrow, then. And I promise I'll be ready to deal with whatever it is."

He looked at her with another warm smile, and perhaps it was her physically weakened state, but Ruth felt his expression right at her core. She glanced away for fear of letting too much show in her eyes. She had a sudden flashback: lying on the floor, breathless, his body pressed over hers.

"Um," she said, "When do you think I can go back to my room?"

Harry shook his head, rising to retrieve the bottle of Macallan 15 he had on his bedroom table and pouring them each a glass. "Drink this, it'll help. And you can't go back to your room, I'm afraid. It's too exposed, and we'll never be able to keep those buildings opposite completely clear."

"Right. So - will they give me another room, or..."

He shook his head as he took a mouthful of whisky. "Those that aren't already bomb-damaged are full. They're going to have to double-up rooms. So we'll have to share, I'm afraid."

"Share..."

"I'll take the couch," Harry said then, "and you can have the bed. This room's more than big enough."

"Right."

There was a pause, during which Ruth took a mouthful of whisky and tried to quell her tremor of unease. "I don't - my bag... It's in my room."

Harry nodded. "You didn't unpack, did you?"

"No. Training says not to on an op."

"Good." He glanced out of the window. "I'll give it another hour, until it's completely dark. Then I'll retrieve it."

"You don't have to... I can..."

"Ruth," he said, with finality. "If you think I'm letting you back in that room, you've got another thing coming."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Author's note: It looks like this is going to be longer than five chapters... Will finish as quickly as I can, hopefully before Friday. Sorry about the spelling mistakes in the last chapter. The only time I have to write at the moment is on the bus on the way into work (through Whitehall, appropriately), which is bouncy, busy and uncomfortable... I don't often have time to re-read and edit properly once I get in. Hopefully this is a bit better! This also has a bit of fluff, which I hope you will forgive me for.

* * *

Harry woke early, but refreshed. He'd thought that he'd perhaps find it difficult to sleep on the room's soft couch, but the events of the previous day had proved too draining, and Harry had passed a dreamless night. He stared at the ceiling as the last vestiges of rest dissipated, thinking about the challenge ahead. He was still half of a mind to order Ruth back to London – the sniper attack had shaken him, and the sight of her covered in blood still sent a chill down his spine. Her determination to stay was admirable, of course, but Harry had suddenly realised, properly, what a danger he had put her in by bringing her to Iraq. Not that he hadn't known that when he'd asked Ruth to join him on this operation… but before it had been abstract, the sort of danger any colleague might find themselves in. Now it was specific, and it was Ruth, and that shouldn't make a difference, but for some reason it did.

Refusing to dwell on why, Harry swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and stood. The room was in semi-darkness, a touch of mid-east dawn blushing around the edge of the curtains. It was already warm, indicating another hot, dry day ahead. Regardless, Harry reached for the gown the hotel had provided and pulled it on over the boxers and t-shirt he'd slept in. In truth, he'd usually not bother with a t-shirt, but with a guest in the room Harry had thought it better to bow to propriety, despite the cloying temperatures.

Harry picked up his suit and headed for the bathroom, intending to shower and dress before Ruth wanted to use it herself. He glanced at her still-sleeping form and found himself slowing to a stop. She'd thrown off the covers as she slept, obviously too hot, and lay curled on her side. She had one arm and one leg wrapped tightly around a pillow, as if holding someone to her as she slept. She wore pyjamas, but the arm of one had slipped in the night, exposing one bare, smooth shoulder. Her hair – which she'd given up straightening, she'd told him, in the heat – was strewn around her head. It was an image of total abandonment in repose, endearingly innocent and at the same time so deliciously illicit that he could not look away. His eyes traced the naked curve of her shoulder as something stirred in his belly, so unexpectedly that the surprise of it brought him back to the reality of what he was doing. Namely, staring at a sleeping colleague whose well-being and safety – in all senses - was entrusted to his care.

Harry turned away, abruptly, heading towards the bathroom, where he shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, swallowing hard. Moving to the sink, he stared into the mirror that hung above it.

_What __in god's name__ was that?_ He asked himself, silently, but had already realised that he wasn't prepared for the answer.

He emerged 20 minutes later, and was relieved to find Ruth awake and up. She sat at the small breakfast table, looking over a report he'd given her the previous night.

"Morning, Ruth."

She looked up with a smile. "Morning, Harry."

"How did you sleep?" He asked, crossing to the table. Without thinking, and possibly still under the influence of the madness that had overtaken him earlier, he reached out and brushed the strands of hair covering her wound away from her forehead. "How's your head?"

Ruth looked startled at the contact, and he dropped his hand immediately. "It's fine," she said, "I don't think I even need the dressing today."

"Good… good."

There was a moment's silence before Ruth stood up and waved a hand in the direction of the bathroom. "I think I'll just…"

"Yes, of course – do. The water's hot this morning, so…"

"Right. Good."

She fled to the bathroom, leaving Harry trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

* * *

Ruth was relieved to find that Harry's pronouncement about the water was correct. She stood under the cascade, letting it wash away her unsettled night. Three times she had been jolted awake by the dream of shattering glass and thudding bullets. Each time she'd felt her heart pounding fit to burst, but she hadn't cried out, which was just as well. She couldn't imagine the embarrassment if she had woken Harry with her nightmares.

Turning off the water, Ruth wrapped herself in a towel and stood in front of the mirror, wiping away the steam so she could see her face. The cut had stayed closed, and she was pleased to see that the bruising was minimal. Ruth fiddled with her hair briefly, looking for a way to hide the injury. Eventually she tied it back in a loose ponytail and dressed quickly, thinking idly about the strange turn this operation had taken. Sharing a hotel room with a colleague was not unusual during field work, she knew, but Ruth really hadn't expected to find herself sharing with her boss, especially after such a traumatic event. The care he had shown her in the wake of the incident had been unexpected, and if Ruth was honest, had stayed in her thoughts long after she'd bid him good night and gone to bed.

_Stop thinking about it_, she told herself now, _You're here to do a job. Just concentrate on that. And when you get back to London, find yourself a date, for goodness' sake._

Harry was seated at the table when she emerged, and Ruth was surprised to see that he'd ordered breakfast. Toast, jam and cereals were lined up in front of pots of tea and coffee. He smiled as she took a seat opposite.

"I hope this is alright," he said. "I thought perhaps we could have the conversation we postponed from last night."

"Of course," she said, pouring herself a cup of tea and helping herself to some toast. "You have... concerns... about the Indian involvement?"

Harry nodded. "Nothing that I can prove, of course."

"To do with...?"

Harry grimaced around a mouth of coffee, and shook his head. "I don't want to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but I think if we do nothing, there will be a sudden discovery of WMDs somewhere between here and Tikrit."

Ruth frowned. "You think they're going to plant something?"

Harry shrugged. "Blair and Bush desperately need more help here. They can't fight this war and deal with the clean-up alone. But you know how unpopular this invasion - sorry, _liberation_ - has been."

"You don't think they'll find WMDs here legitimately?"

"Maybe they will. But they don't have time to wait until that happens."

Ruth nodded, "So you think India's here to supply the hardware?"

"Possibly."

Ruth nodded again, before falling silent as she thought over what Harry had outlined.

"I'm going to play devil's advocate here for a second," she said.

He poured another coffee and leaned back in his chair. "Please do."

"If you're right - if the coalition heads are planning to plant something to legitimise this action... is that necessarily a bad thing? I'm not commenting on whether or not this war was right - but we're here now. And if they don't get their support, it won't go well for_ our_ troops. And they are always MI-5's priority. Surely right now, help is worth getting, full stop?"

Harry nodded, "There is an argument for that. And perhaps if it could be done securely, I might agree. But Ruth - yesterday someone almost killed you, and you were standing inside what is currently the most secure civilian building in Iraq, surrounded by US marines. If they're planning to bring hardware - or even components - here, there has to be a risk that someone else will reach it before they can execute their plan. A plan which has to be reliant on several other components over which neither the Americans or the British will have control. And that makes me very nervous."

He was right, of course. Even ignoring the moral issues involved, it would be a crazy thing to do in such a lawless country. And would potentially risk giving the insurgents armaments far beyond anything they currently possessed, at a time they would be most inclined to use them against coalition positions - either here, or in the West.

"So what are we going to do?"

Harry reached into his pocket and produced a small plastic bag which contained two tiny apparatus.

"Bugs?" she asked.

"We need to know what goes on in both the American and Indian camps."

"Surely they'll have scramblers, the same as us?"

"Probably better, if we're being honest," Harry admitted, opening the bag and sliding one of the listening devices out. "Or at least, they would be if we didn't have the genius of Colin working for us. These have a phasic rotating jamming signal that changes every three minutes. As long as we can get these into McCall and Mani's possession, we should be able to get a feed." He slid one across the table towards Ruth. "I'll mark McCall. I need you to mark Mani."

Ruth picked up the bug, feeling her heart rate tick up again. "Right."

"You can do it, Ruth. I have faith in you. Mani's a bit of a lothario. Let him think he's charming you and he'll talk to you all night. All you need is one opportunity - drop it in his pocket, or his bag."

She nodded. "We can't set up the feed in the intelligence station - it's not secure. The Americans are right there, and MI-6, and I'm assuming since we don't know about the operation, 6 must be in it up to their necks."

"We'll set up a temporary station in here. I know IT isn't your field-"

"I can manage," she interrupted, "best use a laptop, it'll be easier to conceal."

"Good. You also need to trace those radio comms you mentioned last night. They have to be connected somehow."

Ruth stood, "I'll get on it now. Mani won't be around until later?"

"Yes," Harry stood with her, shrugging slightly. "This is one evening you're not going to be able to avoid the bar, I'm afraid."

She smiled. "I'll just keep telling myself it's for Queen and country. And I'll try to be the kind of woman that Mani might be interested in."

Harry glanced away, absently gripping his chair back. "I really don't anticipate that being a problem, Ruth."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Author's note: I am very tired and lacking in inspiration today, so I hope this isn't horribly boring. But I wanted to update to keep the momentum. Again, please forgive any poor research.

Thanks SO MUCH for all the lovely reviews - it really makes a difference to know that at least some of you are being entertained!

* * *

Ruth spent the rest of the day alternating between frenzied activity and interminable waiting. Her first task was to activate the bugs and set up a listening post in their room. She would have preferred to have Malcolm and Colin there to do it, but she managed well enough. She got Harry to test both bugs individually, sending him on a brief constitutional around the hotel as she recorded his muttered communications.

Having done that, she returned to the central intelligence room, earning jeers from the two CIA operatives, who until then had never started their working day before her. She jokingly told them she'd turned over a new leaf, and that they should both expect to buy her a drink later in the bar, before heading for her station. Finding out more about the radio signals she'd intercepted the previous day was now her priority.

Three hours later, Ruth had more answers than she could have hoped for, and went in search of Harry. She found him in their room, deep in conversation on the secure satellite phone. His face was strained and weary, but he smiled when she walked in. Ruth indicated that she'd go and come back later, but he shook his head, obviously wanting her to stay.

"Yes, foreign secretary. Of course." He deactivated the handset and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "The weasel of Whitehall strikes again. Politicians, Ruth – can't work with them. Can't kill them without an executive order."

Ruth smiled sympathetically, perching on the edge of the sofa as he came to join her. "No joy your end, then?"

"No one's saying anything. And they won't until we have something irrefutable that I can rub under their noses."

"Well, that's where I come in," Ruth held up the thin sheaf of papers she'd carried with her.

"Good news?"

"Well, I'm not sure I'd call it _good _news," she said, "but it is at least good intelligence."

Harry breathed a sigh. "Well, that's a start."

Pulling the coffee table towards them, Ruth began to lay out her papers. Harry leaned forward as she pointed to the first.

"A map of India. You can see I've marked the capital, New Delhi."

"Yes," Harry pointed to the second circled area on the map. "What's this, to the north?"

"That's a very small town called Mamdot, about five miles from the Pakistani border."

"And the two radio transmissions you intercepted originated in these two places?"

"Yes. They were separated by two hours and 38 minutes, and were transmitted to Camp Baharia."

"Camp Baharia? In Fallujah."

"Right," Ruth twitched her shoulders. "They bounced the signals around a bit to disguise the routing - well enough to deceive anyone who wasn't looking hard enough."

"So they weren't satellite ghosts, then? Both radio transmissions were deliberately destined for coalition forces in Iraq?"

"Yes," Ruth paused. "You remember, of course, that Libby McCall and Ronnie Cooper were visiting Baharia two days ago. Their visit would have coincided with the two transmissions."

Harry nodded. "Anything else?"

"Plenty. It wasn't the first time I'd heard of Mamdot. A few months ago Indian forces raided a mosque there. They said they were looking for extremists intent on undermining the Indian state. It caused outrage amongst the muslims in the Fizrozpur district, who accused the authorities of actually wanting to perpetrate an act of ethnic cleansing. The district has always been mainly muslim and strongly pro-Pakistan, a stance cemented following Partition by Mountbatten for the British in 1947. Many muslim families tried to flee across the border before it closed."

"In short, not a happy region."

"Exactly. And obviously, the muslim families left there still maintain strong ties to their family members and friends in Pakistan." Ruth took a deep breath. "I thought it was too much of a coincidence for Mamdot to come up twice in such a short space of time, so I contacted someone at GCHQ and got them to do some digging for me. Don't worry," she added, as Harry raised an eyebrow. "I used a code, and I disguised the request so it looked as if it originated in London. It looks like a legitimate request for information from Sam about something not entirely unconnected but entirely innocuous."

Harry smiled. "I'm glad you're on _our_ side, Ruth. I can't imagine why no one's tried to poach you from me yet."

"Who says they haven't?" She flashed him a smile, "Anyway, I got a surprisingly quick response to my request." Ruth pulled out another piece of paper. "This is a list of radio transmissions to Miran Shah in North Waziristan, which meets the Pakistan-Afghanistan border, from Mamdot, in the weeks leading up to the raid on the mosque."

"That's rather a lot of radio traffic for such a small town, isn't it?"

"Especially given North Waziristan's ties to Afghanistan." Ruth pointed to a transmission about halfway down the page. "This transmission is the key. I got GCHQ to send me the raw file - they hadn't transcribed it."

"What made you think that was the important one?"

Ruth shrugged. "It's five seconds longer than the ten transmissions either side of it, most of which seem to be standard messages indicating a status quo. A little later on, there was another that was 8 seconds longer, and then later another that was three seconds longer."

"A split message?"

"Exactly. It took me a while to decode, but I worked it out." She looked up at him. "Harry, they were discussing a shipment of uranium that they were planning to smuggle across the border from Mamdot. I think it was destined for Afghanistan."

"The American's picked up on this?"

"That's my thought. They've been copied on all our intelligence on the region since the war began."

"So what - the raid was to snatch the uranium?"

"I think so. The dates coincide. But instead of moving it, they stored it there, under international radar. Until it was time to move it."

Harry leaned back. "Two days ago."

"Yes. They picked it up - and sent a message telling McCall as much - and then sent another message from New Delhi when it was safe and solidly in their possession."

"Any indication that it's coming here?"

"Not yet. I haven't been able to decode the wording of the transmissions into Baharia. I need a keyword to help me. I won't get that until we pick something up from McCall and Mani."

Harry blew out a breath. "I can't confront the foreign secretary again until I have those two transmissions and know exactly what's going on."

"We'll get them."

"We'd better. I'm afraid we may already be too late. The only way they'll be able to execute this plan is quickly."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Author's note: Not at all sure about this section. I'm definitely sickening for something and I am worried I have lost my thread. I really hope you'll find something to enjoy. It's mostly unmitigated fluff. Thanks to all still reading.

* * *

Harry watched as Ruth chatted to Mani. You'd have to know her well to read the tension in her shoulders and the curve of her spine. To all intents and purposes, she was enjoying herself under the man's attentions. As Harry had suspected, Mani had taken to Ruth straight away, intrigued by the variety and scope of her knowledge.

"You're distracted tonight, Pearce." Beside him, McCall took a puff on his cigar and followed Harry's gaze. "Mani's always been one for the ladies, I'm afraid."

Harry turned back to the American with a thin smile. "I was just wondering what the IIA is doing here, McCall. Mani's a long way from home."

McCall looked amused. "There's not need to be defensive, Harry. We're all at it." He nodded towards Angela, his second. "One of the only perks of being sent to a hell-pit like this. I heard she got moved to your room. Legitimately, too. Nice work."

"There's nothing even slightly unprofessional going on between Miss Evershed and I, Libby," Harry told him, trying to disguise his unwarranted anger. "Frankly, I consider this operation too important to lose concentration to casual bed-hopping."

McCall raised his eyebrows and held up his hands. "Sorry, Harry. Didn't meant to touch a sore point." He paused. "Although, if you ask me, you're missing an opportunity."

"What I'm worried about missing," Harry said, pointedly changing the subject, "Is Mani's true agenda here."

"Come on, Harry. You know the Indians are important allies in the war against terror. We thought bringing him here would... make them feel as if they're playing with the big boys."

"Seems a strange time to be massaging egos, McCall. This place is a mess. Another bomb in the market today - and you know there'll be another one tomorrow."

McCall stubbed out his cigar and poured another glass of bourbon. Harry waved away his offer, preferring to stick to Scotch.

"There won't be anything we can do about that until we get International support, and you know it."

"That seems fairly unlikely right now, doesn't it? I mean, come on - even the Canadians aren't having it."

McCall grunted. "Bunch of tree-hunging hippies," he muttered, a trace of darkness amidst his broad humour. "We should have colonised the place years ago. But don't fret, Harry. I've got a hunch they're going to come around soon enough."

"Oh, really? Is that your crystal ball speaking again?"

McCall smirked. "You're so goddamned cold, Harry." He flicked his head in Ruth's direction. "Get someone to warm you up, for god's sake."

* * *

Across the room, Ruth was trying to relax. She was leaning against the bar beside Mani, who was deep into another story about his home village, which she was gamely trying to follow. He was exceedingly charming, and Ruth could see why he had a reputation as a womaniser. He talked a lot, yes, but he also listened. Yet she'd still give anything to be able to extricate herself - Ruth had dropped the bug at the earliest oportunity, but here she was, still by Mani's side, two hours later. Harry hadnt been joking when he said the IIA agent would talk to her all night. She was not in the least bit flattered, despite his ostensibly undivided attention. Ruth could tell it was more for his ego than hers, and had there been more choice of female companions, she would likely have been far down his list.

As if on cue, a lithe young waitress passed across his field of vision, and Ruth saw the flicker in his eyes. Sensing a good moment to escape, she excused herself for the ladies room. Turning back as she reached the door, she saw Mani already deep into a teasing conversation with the girl, and smiled with relief.

Skipping the ladies room, Ruth made for the hotel's enclosed courtyard. It was bordered on all sides by the building itself, and probably signified the only safe patch of open space in Baghdad. Pushing through the ornate glass doors, Ruth paused to take a deep breath. The night air was fragrant with the remaining flowers that continued to bloom, incongrously, amongst the cruelty of war. Overhead, high above the hotel's five stories, smoke smudged the star-speckled heavens. But here, at ground level in this secluded square of ground, peace reigned. Glancing through the bar's window, she could see that both Mani and McCall were still safely engaged. She needn't rush.

Relieved to be outside, Ruth wandered amongst the flowerbeds, brushing her fingers against the elegant desert blooms. It was hard to beleive that so much beauty could could exist naturally in such an arid climate, but the flowers were vibrant: shades of cerise and orange bursting against dense, fleshy green leaves.

"What are you doing out here, all alone?"

She hadn't heard the door open or close, and so when Harry spoke behind her, Ruth almost jumped out of her skin. "_Harry_!"

"Sorry - sorry..." Harry held out a hand to steady her. "Didn't mean to make you jump."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry," he said again. "You just disappeared, and I wondered if you were OK."

They strolled towards the fountain at the centre of the garden. It was no longer active - there was precious little water to be had in Baghdad, and none to spare for ornaments. Ruth rested her forearms against the low parapet, and Harry leaned beside her.

"I just realised I hadn't had fresh air in days," she said, trailing her fingers in the last of the water that lingered at the base of the fountain. "I've almost forgotten what being outside feels like."

Harry nodded. "When we're done here, you should take a break. Have a holiday somewhere. You're certainly due it."

Ruth looked up at him with a wry smile. "If it isn't this, it'll be something else. Anyway, I'm fine. A few breaths of fresh air and I'll be right as rain." She didn't add that taking a holiday alone wasn't really her idea of fun. Instead, Ruth shut her eyes, listening to the evening wind gust its way into their haven.

* * *

She shut her eyes, and Harry watched the faint moonlight trace patterns on her fair skin. A sudden and unbidden memory of that morning resurfaced, when he'd seen her sleeping and something like a thunderbolt had thudded into his soul. Harry took a deep breath, but this time he didn't look away. Whatever this was - and he was fairly sure he already knew, though it wasn't something he'd name, even to himself - he'd decided not to shy away from it. Not that he'd pursue anything, either… but how often would something like this come along, for a man of his age and situation? He enjoyed Ruth's company, and she understood his work and responsibilities. The fact that he found her beautiful and desirable was almost incidental. What were the chances she'd reciprocate, anyway? She was young, with a career and endless opportunities ahead of her. He couldn't possibly fit into that framework, no matter how much he might want to.

Harry was still thinking these things, and still watching her gentle face, when she opened her eyes again. Ruth breathed in, sharply, and he realised that they were close, closer than was probably appropriate. But her eyes flickered to his lips before quickly rising to meet his gaze again, and for a second hope flowered in his heart, brighter than the desert blooms surrounding them. He was caught in crushing indecision, between leaning forward and moving away.

A loud banging sounded on the window behind them, and they both sprang apart. Harry turned towards the noise to see Libby McCall tipping him an insolent salute, a leering grin plastered across his inebriated face. Harry, heart still pounding, turned back to see Ruth already heading for the door.

"Ruth!"

"McCall and Mani are leaving the bar," she said, without turning back towards him. "I have to get upstairs."

Harry watched her go, cursing himself.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Author's note: Totally indulgent, this.

* * *

Ruth fled upstairs, her cheeks burning. She had no idea if Harry was following or not, but she had to get away - although that was impossible, given their current living arrangements. What on earth had she been thinking? She'd almost kissed him - she'd almost leaned in, and _kissed_ him. And he can't possibly have missed it - the thought had entered her head so suddenly that she'd had no chance of hiding it, and he was looking right at her. If McCall hadn't interrupted, she might actually have done it - and what then? Cold shame washed over her, followed immediately by the hot flush of embarrassment.

What must Harry think of her? She'd never been the kind of woman to throw herself at anyone, particularly not a work colleague. Ruth prided herself on her fastidious work ethic, and valued more than anything else the respect of her peers. And with one, stupid, impulsive almost-move, she'd destroyed everything she'd worked to build during this operation - namely, Harry's trust and faith in her.

Reaching their room, she flung open the door and kicked it shut behind her, pausing for a moment with both hands over her face. Taking two deep breaths, she dropped them, straightening her shoulders and looking towards the active laptop. There was only one thing to do. Work. Work hard, and do nothing else. She still had a job to do, and no matter how much she wanted to sink into the floor, duty came first.

Sitting down at the temporary work station, Ruth called up the feeds on both bugs. Really, she needed another pair of ears to deal with both simultaneously, but given that they'd assumed the two marks would come together at some point - and it was that conversation they were interested in - Ruth thought she could deal with it.

Both feeds were active, and she was starting to check each when Harry entered the room. Ruth's heart rate went through the roof, and she stared hard at her screen, afraid to move. Harry approached, pulling another chair up beside hers and sitting on it heavily.

"Anything yet?"

"Not yet... McCall seems to be making his way to his room. He's rather drunk. I was just about to try the other feed." She reached for the other comm, but Harry beat her to it.

"I'll take it," he said, hooking on the earpiece. "It's working. He's talking to someone..."

They fell into silence. Ruth could feel him there, next to her, could hear his steady breathing over the feed channelling into her ear. She couldn't move, couldn't look anywhere but the screen. Forty-five minutes later, Harry pulled the device from his ear with a sigh. "Anything?"

Ruth shook her head. "McCall's passed out. Snoring. I don't think he's planning on a meeting tonight."

Harry rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Mani's with the waitress. And to be frank, I could do without listening to any more of that right now. Are you recording these feeds?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I suggest we get some sleep."

"Right. I'll be up early to check on the feeds." Ruth stood, avoiding any chance of eye contact. "Goodnight."

She showered and dressed for bed as quickly as she could, and when she emerged from the bathroom, Harry had his back to her.

* * *

Harry woke sometime later, confused by a faint glow painting the ceiling a cool, flickering blue. The room was dark. He glanced at his watch - 3am. Too early for anyone to be awake, for sure. He sat up, slowly, looking towards the bed. The covers were disheveled, but Ruth was not among them. Looking around the room, Harry realised the glow was coming the television. He'd not turned it on since arriving in Iraq, and had almost forgotten it was there. Two armchairs stood in front of it, their backs to him.

He got up, moving nearer. Ruth was curled in one of the armchairs, holding a cushion tightly against her chest, her legs folded beneath her.

"Ruth?"

She turned to look at him, surprised, her face dappled by the patterns emanating from the screen. "Harry - I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"It's fine. I had to get up anyway," he lied, pulling the other chair closer. "What are you watching?"

"One of the Charlie Chaplin greats. _Gold Rush_."

"Where did you get _that_ from?"

"I brought it with me. It's one of my favourite films. I often watch it when I can't sleep. I can turn it off if it's disturbing you…" She reached for the remote, but he stilled her hand with his own.

"Don't," he withdrew his hand. "I've never seen a Chaplin film. I didn't know you were into silent movies, Ruth. Although I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

She looked up at him. "Am I that predictable?"

"Not at all. Just that eclectic."

"Isn't that just a polite word for eccentric?"

"I've never had a problem with eccentric. Why can't you sleep?"

She shook her head, not looking at him. "Too much to think about."

Harry nodded, wanting to ask what those thoughts were, hoping he was among them, but refraining. On the screen, Chaplin was seated at a sparsely-furnished table, looking forlorn.

"Oh," he said, "I think I've heard of this scene."

Ruth's eyes were glued to the screen, but she nodded. "The table ballet. It's one of the most famous sequences."

They watched in silence as Chaplin's Tramp, alone at the table, suddenly imagined himself three beautiful female companions, all immaculately dressed in 1920s flapper attire. Then, to entertain this new wealth of company, the Tramp plunged two forks into two bread rolls, using them to perform an intricate miniature ballet on the table's edge, with the rolls as feet and the forks as legs.

"He is amazing isn't he?" Harry said, transfixed. "What a wonderful scene."

"I always think it's tragic," Ruth whispered, and when Harry turned to look at her, her eyes were large and melancholy.

"Tragic? Why?"

"Because he's really there alone. And the woman he wants to be there, isn't. And she never will be."

Harry watched her for another moment.

"Ruth," he began, tentatively, "About earlier..."

Her eyes snapped to his, and he saw the tell-tale signs of a flush staining her cheeks. "Harry-"

"Ruth. I just want to say..."

"Harry," she said again, interrupting. "Please, can we just forget it? I don't want to talk about it. Please? It won't..." She stared at the carpet. "It won't happen again."

Harry was silent for a second, letting his fragile hope die. Then he nodded. "Of course."

Ruth stood up, flicking off the screen. "It - It's late. I should really try to get some sleep."

"Yes," he said. "Goodnight, then."

Harry heard the rustle of sheets as she slipped between them. He tried to listen for the rhythm of her breathing, but all he could hear was the solid beating of his own weary heart.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Author's note: Very conflicted about this, which is why I didn't post yesterday. Possibly a mistake to post at all. I think this is the only plausible way that this could happen so early in their relationship... but perhaps it just doesn't fit full stop. But, for better or for worse, this chapter has *ADULT THEMES*. If you would prefer to read an edited version, just drop me a message with your email address and I'll happily supply one.

My plot brain isn't working to well today, either. But please be assured I do know where this is going and how it ends! Thanks for reading.

* * *

True to her word, Ruth was up early, despite her stilted night. She started work immediately and quietly, careful not to wake Harry, who remained fast asleep on the sofa. She was still heartily embarrassed by the previous evening, but she trusted him implicitly. He had said they would say no more about it, had accepted her veiled yet abject apology. Ruth believed that he meant what he said, which meant all she needed to do was keep her head down and get on with her job. The sooner they got back to the comparative normality of London, the better. Ruth was sure that then, everything would be fine. They could get back to their usual routine, and her heart would stop turning over every time she looked at him. This strange infatuation was surely nothing but a product of the heightened situation she had found herself in.

Clipping on each earpiece one after the other, Ruth listened to her targets. McCall and Mani were both awake, and Ruth wondered how McCall managed to put away so much alcohol each night and yet still be alert enough for work in the morning. Mani was eating breakfast in the dining room downstairs, and since he was alone, Ruth opted to listen in on McCall's movements. Colin's bugs seemed to be working perfectly - there was a slight jolt to the transmission every three minutes as the device re-calibrated itself, but it never dropped out entirely.

McCall was walking somewhere, and Ruth soon realised he was also headed for the breakfast room. She pressed the device closer to her ear, and smiled as she heard him greet Mani. Although she was recording the entire feed, Ruth took out a sheet of paper and began to jot down elements of the conversation. Both men were arrogant and in a location that they believed was absolutely secure - it was just possible that they may begin whatever negotiations were necessary right there, over breakfast. All she needed were the keywords that would let her unlock the transmissions she'd already intercepted. Then Harry could at least confront London with something solid beyond their speculations.

The men began by exchanging pleasantries and McCall ordering his breakfast. But for Ruth, it was soon clear that they had something urgent to discuss. Both were expert at covert work, but she recognised subtext when she saw it. They talked, and talked, and Ruth listened, building a pattern of apparently innocuous words which she was sure had a double meaning. They discussed a new house that Mani was building in his beloved home town. McCall compared the price of building materials in the US with those in India. What Ruth heard was a discussion about the movement of goods, and comparative international prices. She lost herself in the translation of their double-speak, looking for a key that no one would recognise but her. By the time she had listened to them for half an hour, Ruth was convinced that she knew what they were planning. She did not yet have proof, of course, but if she could match any of the code words she thought she'd heard this morning with those in her intercepted messages from India, she and Harry were in business.

By the time McCall and Mani parted ways, Ruth had a small stack of paper with her scribbled notes. She sifted through them, looking for a place to start before calling up the two radio transmissions.

* * *

Harry woke, disoriented by a dream in which he had seen Ruth's face. Standing and looked around the room, he realised it must still be early. Ruth, however, was already at work. She was still in her pyjamas, which probably meant the hot water had cut out again. Ruth leaned over her make-shift desk, looking through some papers. She looked absorbed, and something tugged deep in his stomach as she absently pushed a strand of hair behind one ear. As he approached, he caught her scent, not some heady, applied perfume, but _her_ - something familiar and yet somehow distinctly intimate, lingering from sleep.

Harry touched his hands to her hips. She jumped in surprise, though she didn't pull away. He turned her, suddenly away of how small she seemed, and desire swept through him like an unstoppable tide. He pushed her, quickly but gently, until her back was against the wall, pinning her hands beneath his. She looked startled, but something in her eyes flashed, a deeper echo of what he had seen, momentarily, in the garden. And when their lips met, it was with such crushing intensity that it took his breath away. Harry felt her straining against his hands, and let her go. She didn't break the kiss, instead flinging one hand up behind his head, pulling him closer. Their lips opened, separated, met again.

Harry had a sudden image of her shoulder, bare among the sheets. Needing to see it again, he wrenched at her pyjama top, popping the top button as he dragged it away from her hot skin. He kissed her neck before running his lips along her clavicle and stroking his tongue, deeply, into the crease of her arm. Ruth made a sound in her throat, so wanton, so much the secret Ruth that had always been hidden somewhere beneath her austerity. Her hands pulled at his t-shirt, finding their way beneath, fingers running up his spine.

He needed to feel more of her, and ran one hand up her thigh, finding the lower edge of her pyjama top. He slipped his hand beneath it as he kissed her neck again, stroking her stomach, and then higher, and higher. He paused for a moment, raising his head to watch her face. Ruth opened her eyes, confused by his stillness, and he kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth as his thumb finally smoothed against the soft swell of her...

"Harry," she said, suddenly. And then, louder, "Harry._ Harry!_" She shook his shoulder.

Harry woke so quickly and sat up so fast that he nearly collided with Ruth, who - fully dressed - was leaning over him.

"Sorry," she said, "Sorry, Harry - but I have news. There's something I need to show you."

He looked away, utterly disoriented, and sucked in a ragged breath. "Okay. Just... give me a minute."

Ruth looked at him strangely. "Are you alright?"

He nodded, covering his eyes with one hand. "I need a shower. Ten minutes."

There must have been something in his voice that told of his desperation, because she paused for a moment before stepping away. "Right. I'll order some coffee. But this is urgent."

Harry nodded, and escaped to the bathroom. Contrary to his dream, the water was hot, and he stood beneath it gratefully, shaking with a lingering desire that shocked him with it's intensity. It had been years since he'd had anything approaching that level of eroticism encroach on his unconscious self. Surely he was too old for such a base, primal reaction? It had been so real - he could still feel her lips against his, could feel how her stomach had curved under his palm...

_It's just this place,_ he told himself, screwing his eyes shut and pressing his palms against the cold tiles. _It's just this godawful place. Pull yourself together, for god's sake._

He could have stayed in the shower far longer than the five minutes he allocated himself, and would have preferred to avoid Ruth for a few more hours at least, but as always, duty had to come first. It sounded as if she'd found something, and if that was the case things must be on the move.

He emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his short hair with a towel, to find Ruth already pouring coffee. It smelled good, and he took the mug she offered gratefully, careful to avoid brushing his fingers against hers.

"So - what is it you have to show me?"

She smiled, a gesture of confident triumph that hit him just below the solar plexus. "Well," she began. "Both Mani and McCall were up early, having breakfast."

"Together?" He asked, deliberately moving away from her and sitting on the sofa.

"Oh yes. Anyway, I thought they might just be confident enough to discuss any deals they were doing right there. And I was right." She held up a sheet of paper, covered in scrawled notes. "I won't bore you with the details, but the key I was looking for was there. They'd named the Uranium a building material, incidentally. Plasterboard."

"And are there any shipments of plasterboard coming here from the Indian sub-continent?"

"No." Ruth shrugged as he raised his eyebrows. "Well, not directly, anyway. But they it would look a little odd if the US forces suddenly began signing for deliveries of building materials in the middle of a hostile action, wouldn't it?"

"So what's happening?"

"It's being split into two shipments. Both of which are being brought into Iraq by separate Indian operatives disguised as Mujaheddin cells - one from Turkey. The other, I suspect, over Iran, which is a far more direct route."

"Iran?" Harry repeated incredulously. "Surely not?"

"That's just my best guess, Harry. They could be bringing it via ship. But it'd be far riskier to travel across Iranian water undetected than it would be even by air or land."

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Your best guesses seem to be worth about as much as the rest of our intelligence put together, Ruth."

She shook her head, dismissing the compliment. "Harry, what I _do_ know is that these shipments are already on the move."

"Christ. When are they expecting delivery?"

"If I'm right, in two days." Ruth spread her hands. "Though I couldn't decipher where."

Harry stared into his coffee. "No time. There's no time at all. I need those two messages and your translations. I'd better call the Foreign Secretary."

Ruth nodded. "I'm going to get down to the intelligence room. I want to see what chatter there is about incoming shipments - of any description. We have to know if someone out there other than the Indians or the Americans have got wind of this."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED  



	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Author's Note: OK, so let's get back to the plot. Sorry if I offended anyone with the last installment. This is very, very close to being finished. Hope you're not bored. Thanks for reading!

NB: Edited for sloppy mistakes. It could do with a good polish, actually, but I don't have the time :(

* * *

"What the _hell _do you think you're playing at, Harry?"

Ruth looked up to see MCCall push past Harry, moving to stand in the centre of the room.

"Afternoon, Libby."

"Don't 'Afternoon' me, Pearce. What do you think you're doing, going behind my back?"

"By speaking to the government I represent, you mean?" Harry moved to the fresh pot of coffee that room service had just delivered, pouring two mugs and offering one to McCall, who refused furiously.

"Do you understand what's happening here? If we can't get support for this action, it's all going to fall apart."

"It'll fall apart for the Americans, you mean," said Harry, replacing McCall's drink and taking a mouthful of his own. "But that doesn't necessarily mean a problem for us. For this prime minister, perhaps, but not for the troops on the ground."

"We are acting _with_ your government."

"M-I6 is not the government – no matter how much it would like to convince itself it has the run of the country."

"How did you even know about this, anyway?" McCall rounded on Ruth angrily, who had been studiously quiet. "It was you, wasn't it? Bugging your own allies. You-"

Harry stepped between them. "Come on, McCall. You're telling me you haven't been listening to every scrap of information you can from our side since we got here?" He smiled. "It just so happens that this time, we were better at it."

McCall made an angry sound in his throat. "Harry, you know we need this. _Both_ our countries need it."

"It's not your intentions that I am necessarily disagreeing with, McCall, but your methods. And are you telling me that this has been sanctioned by The White House? Because I know for a fact that they only thing Whitehall knows about it comes from MI-6, not from your administration."

McCall began to pace, hands in his pockets. "They know there is a strategy to make this UN problem go away. That's all, for the moment. It will be presented to them as a fait accompli, once the difficult logistics have been worked out. Results are all this White House cares about."

"'The difficult logistics'," Harry quoted. "Ah, yes. By that I suppose you mean how to transport two loads of weapons-grade Uranium across hostile territory without losing it to enemy hands?"

"Come on, Harry," McCall scoffed, dismissively. "We know what we're doing. No one's going to get hold of it apart from the people we are deliberately handing it to."

"And the Hindenberg was entirely safe and the Titanic was unsinkable," Harry replied, his annoyance beginning to show. "Are the CIA truly so arrogant that they can't see how foolhardy this plan is? Look at Afghanistan. Look at the mess it is already. I bet the CIA were convinced that'd be a short war, too, weren't they? Go in and blast those hill-dwelling peasants before they knew what was happening, get out as soon as Cheney's pipeline was assured? Instead, we've got history repeating itself, but instead of it being the Soviets they're running rings around, this time it's the Americans who provided them with the arms in the first place."

"Don't be so quick to judge, Harry," McCall's own anger was also beginning to show. "We couldn't have planned this without your guys, and you know it. Stop being so self-righteous. Like it or not, we know what we're doing. We're listening to everything that goes on in this godforsaken country, and no one's going to get this stuff."

"What if it isn't inside this country you need to be worrying about, or even the countries you're bringing it through?" Ruth interjected quietly. "You're assuming the only threat is from factions wanting to use nuclear weapon on the West. What if that isn't the case? What if they want to use them in on Pakistan, or India? Or what if they want to use them in Afghanistan? What then?"

McCall looked at her with disdain. "And you imagine, do you, that it is only your superior intellect that has considered these things?"

Ruth shook her head. "No, of course not. But-"

"Stick to what you're good at. Listening, not talking."

"She's right, and you know it," said Harry, through gritted teeth. "There are so many threats to this plan that even if we knew what direction an attack was to come from, thwarting it would be nigh-on impossible. You are entering a game on higher stakes than anyone on the planet should be able to play with, McCall"

"It's a game we know we can win, and a game your team are too chicken to play," McCall retorted, "Which is why we have to play it for you. The British always step back from the brink, and leave us to do the hard work. And you whine about how we do it."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not going to argue with you about this, McCall. It's a ridiculous idea to suggest that you have control over every aspect of this operation when you so clearly do not. What about the teams bringing the shipments in? Have they been under CIA scrutiny? Do you know who they are?"

"Mani is confident in every one of his men."

"Is he, now? And you're happy with that, are you? The White House knows how far removed the vetting process was for this, are they?"

McCall shook his head. "The Indians would rather cut off their own hands than risk pissing us off. If they say they're confident, they're confident."

"Confidence," laughed Harry, with no trace of humour, "Now that's a political word, if ever I heard one. Along with the phrase 'Absolute assurance'. Both sound perfect in a negotiating room, and neither mean anything concrete."

McCall's patience ran out, and he moved to the door. "I'm telling you, Harry, don't interfere with this one. We know what we're doing – and we're doing it. It's in motion. There's nothing you can do." He slammed the door behind him.

Harry turned to Ruth. "Well," he said. "Perversely, now I hope we find something to justify our anxiety. Because otherwise I've just irrevocably strained relations with the cousins for no good reason."

"What exactly did the Foreign Secretary say?" Ruth asked, rising from her desk and approaching.

"That our concerns may be founded but unless we have firm evidence of a plot to intercept the shipments, Whitehall is still of a mind to let it go ahead."

"The outcome justifies the means, then?"

"Apparently," Harry shook his head. "Am I looking at this entirely the wrong way? Perhaps it's me that has my head buried in the sand."

Ruth reached out and squeezed his arm, lightly. "I don't believe that, and neither do you. This is dangerous, and it's wrong."

Harry sighed. "I'd rather be wrong."

"Even if you are, you're doing the right thing. Now, I'm going to head down to the listening post and start trawling. I know I'm only one person, and they've got the entire CIA, but..."

"Ruth," said Harry, rather more warmly than was perhaps called for, "I'd take you on your own against the might of the CIA any day."

* * *

Surfing the airwaves, listening covertly to myriad conversations, trying to catch the one that matters... it's a little like drowning in a tide. The messages flood towards you, different voices, pitches, accents, languages, each too complex to grasp in seconds, too many to listen to exclusively, slowly, in detail. Ruth sat, eyes staring unseeing at her monitor, listening to the wash of information flooding past her and waiting for a hook that could reel her in. While at GCHQ she'd developed her technique, the equivalent of skim-reading. Today she had a distinct advantage, in that she knew the context she was listening for. What she didn't know was the direction it would be coming from, which meant widening the net as much as possible. She'd ruled out a lot of the world, of course, but even only allowing for the Middle East, that was a lot of chatter.

After three hours she needed a break, but knew she couldn't go far. Leaning back in her chair she squeezed her shoulder, forcing her thumbs into the knots developing there. At the other end of the room, the two CIA agents were acting in a distinctly frosty manner, which she had no problem ignoring. She was determined not to let anything slip through her net, particularly not anything that could leave Harry - and by extension, the British people - open to attack.

Another hour passed, and then another. The tide was coming in fast, and still she'd found nothing. Undeterred, Ruth worked long into the night, mindful of the deadline she'd learned from her earlier work. But it wasn't until three o'clock in the morning, when the two vital shipments were just hours from their intended destinations, that she found something.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, when she woke him up.

"As sure as I can be - as _anyone_ can be. I've got two lots of chatter about attacks on two non-US convoys tomorrow morning. It can't be coincidence. And more than that, I don't believe the Americans don't know about it. They must be monitoring these frequencies."

"They just don't think it's a problem." Harry took the papers she held out to him. "I'm going to talk to McCall, and then the Foreign Secretary. We have to put a stop to this, now."

"Get McCall to tell you what routes these shipments are using," Ruth said. "I swear they're going to correlate with this data, Harry. I swear it."

He nodded. "I'm sure they will, Ruth. You've done what you had to do - now it's my turn. Get some rest."

Harry left the room quickly, but she was too tense to rest. She went back to her post and tuned into the chatter once more, determined not to miss a thing.

* * *

"We have to stop this, McCall. You know that, don't you?"

McCall shook his head, denial suffusing his face. "We know about these threats. It's not an issue. They'll be chancers – disorganised, untrained men looking for a windfall, that's all. They'll be no match for Mani's men."

"Oh really? And what if they're not what you suppose them to be?"

The American frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry held out one of Ruth's scrawled notes, which showed a diagram detailing the Iran-Iraq border. "This is the route they're taking, isn't it?"

McCall shrugged with practiced ease. "Yes. What does that have to do with anything? I'm telling you Pearce, we've got it covered."

Harry pulled out another piece of paper, the same map but with added points, crossing the border just miles apart from Mani's operatives. "Look at this. You're assuming the attacks are coming from within Iraq, that you'll know what routes they're using to intercept. But you're wrong. There are two cells who have parallel to your convoys, both from Afghanistan."

"You're the one who's wrong, Harry. This is bad analysis."

"I would stake this against yours in any court room in the world, McCall. I'm telling you, if you have word about attacks from within Iraq, they're decoys."

"That'd mean Mani has been playing us. Is that what you're saying?"

Harry shook his head. "Not necessarily. He might not be in on it. But you can't tell me the Indians wouldn't like a windfall right now, particularly if it was of weapons-grade Uranium, the loss of which they could blame on the Americans."

McCall stalked away. "This is bullshit, Harry."

"Bullshit of your making, McCall," Harry threw the rest of Ruth's papers onto the table in front of him. "You have to pull the plug. We can get it out of here before anyone finds out it was ever here - or worse, these attacks go ahead. Even if you thwart the attacks, the press is going to get wind of it."

McCall shook his head again. "I need to talk to Washington."

"Make the call, Libby. You started this without Washington, you can stop without them, too."

McCall was adamant, however. Harry, anxiety eating at his gut, left him to his phone call, determined to make a few of his own. He had strings he could pull, too. Ruth was right. Whether or not they could make it work, it was wrong. And Harry Pearce wasn't going to let it happen without a fight.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Author's note: The penultimate chapter! This turned out to be a little longer than I originally intended, to be sure...

* * *

The sun rose over Baghdad with the heat of a thousand fires. The sky blushed orange, then pink, then yellow, before burning into a perfect azure blue. Ruth was still at her desk in the intelligence room. Twice in the night she had dozed off in front of her computer, woken only when her head had slipped from its rest in her hand. There was still no news from Harry. It didn't seem right to sleep, so she stayed where she was, watching the dawn through her window. The birds stayed silent here, she had noticed, and there was no sign of them in the skies. It was too full of bullets and fire for them to risk flight, perhaps.

The door opened and Harry appeared. He'd dressed when she woke him, but only in shirt and trousers. His collar was undone, his sleeves rolled up. She stood, overcome by a sudden (and she could not help but think inappropriate), urge to smile.

"Ruth?" He said as he walked towards her. "I've been looking for you. I thought I told you to rest."

"Sorry, Harry. I just felt as if I should be down here. I don't know… just in case. Is there news?"

Harry's face broke into a smile. "Oh yes. It took some doing, but the operation is off. And McCall, incidentally, is suddenly my best friend. Seems he always had misgivings… Who'd have thought it?"

Ruth shook her head. "Oh, how the worm turns."

"Quite. He's just ordered troops to intercept the two shipments. They'll be crossing the border in–" Harry glanced at his watch, "about 90 minutes. And then, I am pleased to say, we are done here."

"What will happen with the Uranium?"

"They're wrangling over that now. I'm sure the Indians will want it back and I'm sure the Americans won't want to give it to them. I've already told the Foreign Secretary it should come to the UK and be stored somewhere neither country knows." He leaned on the desk, in a move reminiscent of all those weeks ago, an early morning on the grid when Ruth had been anticipating a normal day. "I couldn't have done this without you, Ruth. It was a hell of an operation to be handed for your first field trip, and you've been outstanding. Thank you."

Despite herself, Ruth blushed at this naked praise. She picked up the nearest pen and twirled it through her fingers to give herself something else to focus on.

"I'm just glad I didn't let you down."

He shook his head, straightening up. "I doubt you ever could. Now, I'm going back upstairs for a shower, and then I'll join Libby as the intercept takes place."

"I'll stay here, monitoring," Ruth told him. "Can't be too careful…"

"We should be on our way back to London tonight, Ruth," Harry said as he headed for the door. "Just think of it – hot water that stays hot, fish and chips, no sound of gunfire in the air, cold wine…"

"Your bed," Ruth added.

"Indeed – my bed. Now that really will be a luxury…" Harry turned at the door and offered another smile before it swung shut behind him.

* * *

"This really is for the best, Libby," Harry said, sometime later, as he stood beside the American in his hotel suite, waiting for the phone call. Troops had been dispatched sometime earlier, racing through the desert sands towards the two routes Mani's covert convoys had taken since crossing the Iraq border.

Harry had checked in with Ruth. According to the chatter she was keeping an ear on, the two cells planning to attack the shipments were following her predicted paths almost exactly. With any luck, the intercept would go without a hitch, the Marines would thwart the two attacks before they could even be launched, and the Uranium would be transferred to American control within a matter of minutes. Harry glanced at his watch as he took another mouthful of coffee. That was another thing he was looking forward to getting back to, if he was honest – a good cup of tea. Stocked as it was by the Americans, the only thing this hotel had – that was drinkable, in any case – was coffee. No wonder he'd had trouble sleeping since he got here.

The thought of sleep turned his thoughts back towards Ruth. His embarrassment at the dream that she'd woken him from the night before remained, and he was unashamedly relieved at the thought of returning to London. Yet still, a flash of sorrow suffused him when he thought of terminating this strange, forced closeness they had been obliged to adopt. It was something he would have to tackle, he realised. No doubt their return to London would set him back on an even keel as far as she was concerned… at least, he hoped it would. And if it didn't – well, that was a challenge he would have to deal with, and overcome, because she'd made it clear that anything else was unthinkable, and he didn't want to lose her to GCHQ again. Her work in Baghdad had proven how valuable she was, and he wasn't going to lose that through his own poor behaviour.

"Penny for them, Pearce?" Harry looked up to find McCall watching him through curious eyes.

"War, Libby. Just war. It messes with one's head in unpredictable ways, and we're just at the back of it all. What must it be like to be out there, on the front line?"

McCall nodded, "Pray we never find out, Harry. Pray we never find out."

"Where's Mani?"

The American snorted, shrugging. "Probably chasing a new piece of skirt somewhere. He wasn't best pleased to learn of our pull-out, but the Indians will come around. It's not as if they have a choice."

"Oh what a tangled web…" Harry quoted, setting his coffee mug on the table and pushing his hands into his pockets.

"It was a good plan, you know, Harry. If you hadn't come along…"

"Ah, but I did."

The phone rang, and McCall reached for it, holding it to his ear as he listened for a moment before flicking a glance at Harry and nodding. He replaced the receiver.

"Well. It's done. The mission was a success - both shipments are in our possession."

"Excellent," Harry said, as the two men shook hands. "I shall rest a lot easier now I know we aren't under threat of nuclear attack amongst everything else."

McCall laughed. "You're too soft, Harry, that's your problem."

Harry let go his hand and reached for the phone. "May I? I'd like to tell Ruth she can stand down."

McCall nodded, and Harry dialed the intelligence room. "Ruth?"

_"Harry..."_

"Good news. The recovery was successful. You can relax."

_"Harry…_" she sounded distracted, and he could hear her tapping keys in the background. His stomach tightened into a knot.

"What is it?"

_"I think you'd better get down here. I think - I think there's a third shipment, Harry. I think there's a third shipment!"_

* * *

"This is impossible," McCall was saying, looming over her desk, "This is just not possible. You're wrong."

"McCall, give her some room. Ruth - tell us what's going on."

Ruth pointed to her screen. "I'm getting another chatter stream. It's clear as day, Harry - the first two shipments were carrying a minimal quantity of Uranium. They were decoys, Harry, and the insurgents knew that. The main shipment is on another route," she stood up, dragging open a map and pinpointing a tiny track, "travelling along here."

Harry rounded on McCall, "What in god's name are you playing at?"

The American threw his hands up, "I'm telling you, this isn't possible. There were two shipments. That's what we discussed with Mani - that's what we sanctioned. She's got to be wrong."

"Get him here, now, McCall. Find out what the hell is going on." He turned to Ruth. "Where do you think it is now?"

She shook her head, "My best guess would be here." Ruth indicated a point about 100 miles north-east of Tikrit.

"How long until the attack?"

Ruth looked up at him. "We're too late, Harry. They struck about 20 minutes ago. They're all over the airwaves, crowing about it."

Mani appeared through the doors, and McCall and Harry both began shouting at him. He held up his hands, bemused.

"What's the problem?" He asked, "I thought you big boys had this all under control?"

"Tell us about the third shipment, Mani," Harry grated.

McCall grabbed the Indian by the throat, "If you double-crossed us, so help me god…"

Mani smirked. "Why on earth would I double cross the mighty United States of America, Libby? Come now, talk sense. The third shipment is merely a security precaution. No one knew about it outside my inner circle. It will ensure that despite Harry's nervousness, this plan can go ahead."

"You did this without telling me?" McCall ranted, "You moron. You complete and utter moron."

An angry frown settled on Mani's face. "Be careful, McCall."

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair, "McCall, you'd better scramble every Marine you have in the vicinity. Mani, your idiocy has fed straight into rebel hands. The third shipment has been attacked and taken. All we can do now is hope we can get it back before it crosses the border back into Iran."

Mani paled as McCall, disgusted, let him go. "There are no troops in the vicinity, Harry," said the American, "It's the middle of the fucking desert. There's nothing there."

"Then we'd better get there just as fast as we can, hadn't we? Scramble a chopper that can get us to the closest troops. I want to be there, McCall - no arguments."

McCall strode off as Mani slunk away. Ruth stood, suddenly panicked, "You're not going with them?"

"I have to. They've ballsed this up between them once already - I have to be there, Ruth."

"Then I'm coming too."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Harry - if you're going, I'm not staying here. Besides," she added, "I have the data, and I know how to read it. You really want to trust a CIA agent to take over right at this moment?"

"Ruth -"

"Harry," Ruth said again, determined despite her renewed terror, "either I come, and be a part of this mission, or I go back to London and from there, GCHQ. If not for me, you wouldn't know about this. I deserve to be there."

He looked as if he were about to say something else, but at that moment McCall shouted that a Chinook would be ready in ten minutes, and there was no time to do anything else but run.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED 


	11. Chapter 11

Baghdad 11

Author's note: And here's the end! I have had so much fun writing this. Thank you SO MUCH for reading - especially those that wrote such lovely reviews, it's really nice to know you have been entertained. I just hope this lives up to your expectations... although Botticelli50 is going to be disappointed, as I couldn't get Harry into a Valentino suit (that really did make me laugh). I'm crossing my fingers for HRFan's next chapter of "Returns" though… :D

* * *

They suited up in the chopper, pulling on desert camouflage, flak jackets and the heavy helmets they'd worn on their way in. They'd been told they'd have to transfer to armoured carriers for the intercept, since the ground where the insurgent convoy was too rocky to land a helicopter. Ruth looked around at the tense company of men. That first journey seemed so long ago. She felt different - she was afraid, yes, but not abjectly so.

She stared at the map in her hand, looking at the representation of the terrain they were passing over. This was such a difficult country to navigate, in all senses, and Ruth felt as if she'd seen nothing of the place, locked as they had been inside the hotel. Her fingers traced the progress of history as they flew. Here was the Tigris, noted in Genesis as one of the rivers flowing from the Garden of Eden; here was Nineveh, where Joshua was fabled to have preached to the fallen. Here was the site of Nebuchadnezzar's Babylonian empire, and the hanging gardens that graced the desert with an early and extraordinary wonder of the world. And since then, Iraq had been conquered by Trajan of Rome, by the Sassanids of Mesopotamia, by Arabia, by the Ottomans of Turkey. And then came the oil, and the British, who held it until independence in 1961. And then came Kuwait, and Saddam... all leading to _another_ occupation, to _another_ period of instability, to more violence and bloodshed in this ageless, ceaseless desert.

They landed in a fury of dust and heat, climbing from the Chinook to see four armoured trucks, ready and waiting. Harry turned to her, shouting over the steady whip of the rotor blades as the men rushed to the vehicles.

"I want you to go back," he yelled. "You got us here. Now I want you safe."

She shook her head. "I'm coming."

"I could order you."

"Please don't. I'd rather-" she paused, realising the underlying truth of what she was about to say, but ploughing on regardless. "I'd rather come, despite the risks, than wait for you to come back."

He stared at for a second, before offering a half nod as he turned and ran towards the vehicle at the column's head. Ruth made to move after him, but an arm held her back. She turned to see another Marine who looked about half her age.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," he shouted. "Only one non-combatant per truck."

Ruth nodded, glancing after Harry before following the soldier to the second vehicle. McCall clambered into the third, with the fourth taking up the rear. They moved off as soon as the door had clanged shut, before she'd seated herself. It was claustrophobic, bone-shaking, and noisy, but at least unlike the chopper and the C-17 before it, she could see out. The front windows were clean, but soon clouded as they rattled along the dirt track that stood for the only road for miles.

They raced on, the blue sky stretching out above them, empty of anything but clouds. Ruth's heart was in her mouth - surely the longer they drove, the more likely it was the insurgents would reach the border? But then she saw the driver hold a hand to his ear, listening to a shouted command over his comms. A second later the truck rushed into a sharp left turn, pulling onto a larger dust track, sliding on the light gravel coating the surface beneath its tracks. As the truck slewed, Ruth got a momentary glimpse of the road ahead of Harry's vehicle - and in the distance, a large white truck, speeding in front of them, flanked by two open-topped four-wheel drive vehicles.

The driver turned, shouting into the back for the benefit of his passengers. "They're scrambling air support, but they don't want to blow it to kingdom come if they don't have to. Get ready, boys, we're going in…"

They lurched forward, somehow finding even more speed in the cumbersome tank. Ruth shut her eyes, adrenaline combining with the anxiety in her stomach, nausea bubbling in her throat. She forced herself calm, and opened her eyes again, registering, for a second, the incongruous colour of the beautiful sky.

An explosion ripped through the clear air, so catastrophically loud that it drowned out the rattle and grind inside the armoured car. Ruth had been watching the road ahead, and through the begrimed window she saw the lead vehicle lift unevenly into the air, front wheels pulverised by the force of the blast. It spun, clumsily, like a child's toy being hurled from an angry hand, before crashing down on its roof with a resounding blow that shook the earth on which it landed.

Their own armoured truck skewed around in the road as the Marine driving fought to avoid piling into the stricken vehicle. Ruth heard screaming, and only belatedly realised it was her. They slid to a stop and she was already reaching for the door release when another Marine held her back.

"Ma'am, you have to stay here," he yelled as his companions flung open the door and poured past her.

"I can't," she screamed back over the chaos, struggling free of his grip.

"Ma'am…" she heard him shout again, but her heavy boots had already hit the dusty ground, and she was running towards the wreck.

Beyond the crumpled carcass of the armoured personnel carrier, she could see the truck carrying the last case of Uranium. It had been unaffected by the blast, and was speeding away into the distance. She spun, instinctively, to warn the soldiers, but saw that those not racing with her to help their compatriots were rigging up a rocket propelled grenade launcher. The armament blasted over her head and a second later the truck swerved, too harshly for it's centre of gravity to hold. It teetered momentarily on two wheels before crashing down on its side like an injured elephant, sides a concertina of ruined metal.

She skidded into the shadow of the devastated army truck. It's doors were all still sealed, dead wheels spinning uselessly on their uneven axis. Ruth screamed Harry's name, wrenching ineffectually at one of the heavy door handles before banging on the small, fugged windows in desperation. Stronger arms than hers reached over her head as the Marine that had tried to keep her inside and safe pulled at the door, also to no avail. Looking around, the young soldier picked up a piece of twisted metal to use as a lever, as behind them, the rest of the company pelted towards the truck they'd just downed with the RPG.

When the door finally opened, smoke poured from the darkened interior. They could hear coughing, and the Marine immediately plunged inside. The first figure he pulled from the wreck was Harry, his face blackened and bloody. The Marine dumped him on the ground next to the truck before heading back inside to pull out the other three Marines.

Harry's eyes were shut, and through his heavy clothing and the helmet, Ruth couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. Another Marine arrived with a triage kit as the soldier who'd opened the door appeared with the last of the injured soldiers. At least one of them looked to be walking wounded, while another had a bad wound to his leg and the other seemed to be unconscious.

"Harry… Harry…" Ruth undid his helmet and slid it off, one hand under his head, the other sliding under his collar to check for a pulse. The blood seemed to be coming from a shrapnel wound in his right cheek, but it didn't look deep.

He coughed, opening his eyes. "Ruth?"

"Oh god…" she said, running a hand over his chest and arms as she looked him over. "Oh god… Where are you hurt? Can you tell me?"

Harry blinked and frowned, raising one hand to his cheek as he struggled to sit up. "I'm alright," he said, hoarsely. "Maybe a few cracked ribs… A bit of a knock to the head… but I think I'm alright." He leaned back against the wreck, breathless, looking at the Marines beside him before shutting his eyes again. "What happened?"

"An IED," Ruth told him, "I think they knew - I think it was planted because…"

"The Uranium?" He asked, eyes flashing open again as he looked up at her. "What about…"

"It's OK," Ruth told him, "We've got it. It's secure."

Harry's eyes fixed on her face, and she wasn't sure what she read there. "Ruth…"

"It's OK," she told him, feeling the shock hit home as she began to shake, uncontrollably. "Everything's OK. It's all OK."

"Don't cry," he told her, softly. "Ruth, please don't cry."

Surprised, she raised a hand to her face, and realised her eyes were streaming. Harry reached out, brushing her fingers away to replace them with his own, smoothing his thumb over her cheek.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered. "I saw the explosion, and… I thought you were dead."

Harry raised his other hand to cup her face. His eyes searched hers, but she didn't know what he was looking for. "We did it, Ruth. We're done. I'll make sure we're on the first transport back to RAF Lyneham tonight."

She sucked in a deep breath and smiled through her tears, which would not stop flowing. "Oh, that's good," she said, to hide the confusion of her reaction. "My cat – I think my cat will have forgotten me."

Harry shook his head, and Ruth's heart jolted into freefall as he brushed his thumb lightly across her lips. "I don't think it'd be possible to forget you, Ruth Evershed."

"Sir, Ma'am," a Marine loomed over them, glancing between them and the open horizon beyond the wreck. "We have to move out. This position is too exposed. Can you walk?"

Harry nodded, and Ruth helped him up. Harry wrapped one arm across her shoulder, and she put her arm around his back as they limped, slowly, towards the waiting transport.

* * *

Hours later, they stood in the hollow calm of Baghdad's airport terminal, their bags at their feet. Out on the tarmac waited the C-17 that would take them back to RAF Lyneham, along with the recovered Uranium and, tragically, five UK soldiers killed in Basra by an IED two days earlier. It was a sobering reminder of how close they had both been to death, and how many more soldiers would inevitably die before Iraq would be secure.

Harry nodded toward three crates that were being moved across the tarmac towards the aircraft. "The Uranium."

Ruth nodded. "It doesn't seem right that we're transporting it to the UK with their bodies."

"I know." Harry frowned. "It's far from ideal. But - we have to keep it under wraps. In fact-" He paused, turning to look at her, his gaze assessing.

"Yes?" She prompted.

He shook his head. "It can wait until we land. Until we're back on the grid, actually. I'd rather talk in a secure location. But I have something I need to discuss with you." Ruth almost laughed, and he looked at her curiously. "What?"

"The first time you said something like that, I ended up following you to Iraq," she pointed out, not with out humour, "and the second time, I was nearly shot by a sniper. I'm hoping no one's going to call three times lucky on me."

He smiled at her, "You're right. My confidences have not been so lucky for you. But I'd still rather trust you than anyone else. If you're willing."

Ruth's heart turned over, and she looked away. "Of course I am, Harry."

Silence reigned between them for a while, as they watched the setting of a sun that had seen them race half their way across this ravaged country and back again. They would take off under cover of darkness, which was hoped would make the aircraft harder to fire upon.

"Ruth," Harry said, finally, and his voice had taken on such a serious tone that she couldn't help glancing at him. His face was grave. "There's something else that I think I should raise now."

Anxiety bloomed instantly in her gut. "Oh?"

He looked at her, his eyes guarded. "I know this was a difficult operation for you. It was even for me, so I can't imagine what a struggle it was for you. And I admire your work here so much more for that."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"On operations like these," Harry continued, as if she hadn't spoken, as if he were repeating something he'd rehearsed, "things can become... strained. Out of proportion. I think…" he shook his head, "…I think it's just the pressures of the situation. Being in a warzone is so rarified, so challenging. So isolating, in a way. Every emotion becomes heightened. Hard to deal with."

She nodded, heart thumping in her throat, with no idea of what, really, he was trying to say.

"What I'm trying to say," Harry began again, obviously uncomfortable and aware that he wasn't making himself clear, "is that if anything has happened since we've been here that has made you uncomfortable, or there has been anything in my behaviour that has made you think that I don't have the utmost respect for you as a colleague, and as a… friend… then I'm sorry. Please put it down to the pressures of the situation."

He fell silent, and Ruth stared at her feet. Was he talking about her almost-slip in the garden? Her tears, earlier? Mustering all her courage, she looked up and smiled.

"I'm sure everything will get back to normal once we get back to London. Like you say, being in a warzone – it's a strain. Of course it is. But I think we worked well together. Don't you?"

Relief showed on his face as he nodded, and her heart sank a little more, though she wasn't sure why. All he had said was what she had in fact told herself - that this tiny infatuation would fade with the cold of a London winter, that getting back to work on the Grid would settle and eventually dissolve the nerves that sparked in her stomach every time she looked at him.

"Good. I'm glad," he said. "I can't imagine the Grid without you now, Ruth. And I'd hate to do anything that would make you want to leave."

She smiled again, genuinely warmed by his comment. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Harry nodded, returning her smile. They stayed like that for a few minutes, until, out on the tarmac, a soldier signalled them that it was time to leave.

"Well then," said Harry, with a curiously subdued sigh. "Let's go home."

Ruth reached for her bag, but Harry beat her to it, their fingers entwining, briefly, around the handle.

She let go, and followed him, through the glass doors and towards the waiting aircraft.

* * *

[END]


End file.
